The Way They Fit
by Hearsawho
Summary: When they just let it happen. GilNick.


**The Way They Fit**

**By Hearsawho**

-

It's never planned - there's rarely a time when they _discuss_ it. When Nick thinks about it - those times when he can't redirect his thoughts around to something else - he thinks that it's almost a metaphor for their entire relationship.

For his part, Gil has lost count of how many meals they've let go to waste half-cooked, or how many times only some of the dishes have made it into the dishwasher before they've stumbled down the hall to the bedroom. Nick knows the neighbors think he's some kind of scatter brain, the way he leaves chores half-finished all the time, from taking care of the yard to changing the oil in their trucks, because Gil likes him grease-stained and sweaty and smelling of dirt and honest work.

They've never talked about it, but there are a few things they won't interrupt - like phone calls, after that one time Nick didn't hit the off button and Jim heard way more than he should have. Nick leaves Gil and his crossword puzzles undisturbed, even if the look of concentration on Gil's face drives him to distraction. Gil knows better than to try anything when the Cowboys are playing, but he makes no promises about documentaries.

They manage to keep their hands off each other at work. They agree that time in the parking lot doesn't count.

Neither of them are on the same page, to start, though it never takes much to get them both there. That's where Nick's metaphor starts to crumble. If only everything in their relationship came so easily.

Gil doesn't worry about it, and if he knew Nick did, he'd tell him to stop over-thinking it. Why question attraction? They want each other and this works for them, and if anything it means they can spend more time working on the other stuff.

But there's something to Nick's metaphor, after all. When they've settled side by side on Gil's tiny sofa, and Nick's arm drapes over the back, his hand dangling down and his fingers stroking idly across the nape of Gil's neck, Gil's inevitable response is something very like the day he finally succumbed to the slow smiles and earnest eyes Nick offered every day unthinkingly. He turns toward Nick on the sofa and cups his face and steals his attention away from the newspaper with a kiss, and there is an echo of that long-ago offer of breakfast back at his place, spoken before he knew he meant to ask. Nick will startle, and then his arm will slide from the sofa back to curl around Gil and hold tight and sure, as warm and firm as the steady "yes" he gave in answer.

Not that every urge ends with them in bed. There are the times when Nick is banished from the house, told to go play with Warrick, or look for birds, or go for a run, whatever - just let Gil finish this article. More than once, Gil has stirred from his work, restless and hungry for Nick, only to find that Nick is nowhere to be found. But Gil always finishes his article eventually, and Nick never stays gone for long, and if they don't latch on to each other immediately then, there is always time.

Others would call it the honeymoon phase, and Gil used to as well. But then a year goes by, and another, and Gil watches Nick outside at the grill, knowing that in ten years he will still be unable to resist walking out there to slide his arms around Nick's waist. He smiles when he does it, resting his hands over Nick's stomach and kissing Nick's neck, because Nick says something about the steaks being too good to waste, but he pushes his ass back against Gil's groin even so.

It's crazy, really. This - what they have - is not really 'them' as they've always thought of themselves, except they'll come to realize that it is in fact 'them' at their most free. They're so different, but every interrupted task shows how they're the same - how they fit.

Gil's brilliant mind and Nick's beautiful heart are wonderful together, but clash as often as they compliment. It's in touch that they find understanding and common ground. Gil's hands wrap around Nick's ribs when Nick leans over him, and Nick knows the meaning of that touch in a way he can never parse Gil's quotes and anecdotes, secure in a way he otherwise wouldn't be, and free of the frustration and inadequacies Gil's words bring. Gil can't fathom how Nick can feel so much for so many people and not lose himself, and Gil knows that Nick hates trying to explain it, putting into words of reason and logic what he wishes Gil could just feel the way Nick feels. But as Nick reaches with weakened arms in the aftermath, needing Gil close, Gil finally knows how to give Nick exactly what he wants.

There's nothing to talk about, and no need to plan; the fit is natural if they let it be. There is only giving in, and coming together. Gil is right not to question it. All the books that take months to finish, and the showers that take twice as long than they should, and all the times they're late someplace, are in their own way the flowers and cards and gifts that Gil and Nick don't exchange, and the sentiments that are too awkward to speak, and they will find that sauce boiled over on the stove is all the more meaningful for that.


End file.
